Just Another Boring Conference
by Partly
Summary: Ziva meets an old foe in Miami.


Ziva had never been in Miami before but the hotel bar she was in felt very familiar. It was filled with the same foreign dignitaries, news hounds, celebrity hangers-on and security people that populated all the hotels that hosted foreign aid conferences. She was here because someone with the Israeli delegation had determined that they needed someone familiar with the Mossad to attend and it seemed she was the only one in the entire US that fit the bill. Or at least that was the impression she got when the director ordered her to attend.

Outside of being boring, it wasn't too bad. It was nice to have a conversation in her native tongue and to practice her in-crowd surveillance techniques. It wasn't until well after midnight on the final Friday of the conference she first felt something was wrong. She sat at the end of the bar and nursed her expensive tumbler full of water and studied the people who mingled throughout the lounge. Everything looked right, but…

"Hello, Ziva." She froze at the voice, placing the cool tones instantly. She deliberately took a drink of water before turning to face the man who had managed to take the seat beside her without her noticing.

"Michael Westen." She smiled a fake, practiced smile to match his. "I didn't expect to see you here. From what I hear, you're not exactly welcome in the diplomatic circles anymore."

He shrugged. "I'm not here for the party. I'm on a different…" he paused as if unsure of what to say. He finally settled on "job."

"Ah. I thought maybe you wanted to continue our conversation where we left off last time." Ziva took the time to study him. He didn't look much different from the first time they met, almost five years ago. Although that time, he'd been in handcuffs because the Israeli security forces had caught him breaking into the British Consulate. She'd been in charge of the preliminary questioning. All she'd learned in the two hours they'd spent together was that it would take a lot longer than that to find out who he was and what he was up to. She'd ordered him taken to a more secure facility where she'd continue her questioning. He'd escaped en route.

Ziva had spent the next two months trying to track down everything she could on him. There hadn't been much. She hadn't even known his name until one of her old contacts had sent her a copy of a burn notice and the name "Michael Westen" was listed under his picture. "I still have some questions for you."

He smiled at her again. The same Cheshire Cat smile that she remembered from the interrogation. "Some old times don't bear remembering, but I did want to talk to you." His eyes flicked to the mirror behind the bar. "The man in the gray Armani suit, with the red tie who's drinking a scotch."

Ziva's found him. He stood near the door to the dining area. She'd noticed him earlier, standing with different groups of dignitaries, drifting from one to the other. She pegged him as a businessman trolling for new clients or investors. "Yes?"

"His name is Armando and he's in the contraband business. He's mob connected and he works out of Miami. He started with Cuban cigars then an assortment of different drugs, but now he's moved up to the slave trade. He's using this conference to make new connections, meet prospective buyers and arrange for the sale and shipment of a group of girls he has stashed somewhere in Miami. He's my target."

Ziva narrowed her eyes, tracking back in her mind to everyone she'd seen Armando talking with. She turned back to Michael. "And you are telling me this why?"

"I didn't want you to get the wrong idea and interfere with my operation." He met her eyes. "I'm only here to stop him and get the girls. I'm not here to disrupt the conference. I have no interest in the delegates you're watching."

She held his gaze for a moment, unable to detect any hint of dishonesty. Of course, he was a professional liar. "So what is your interest in Armando?" Ziva again went over the dignitaries she'd seen with Armando, trying to deduce who Michael could be working for. Unless he was back on the US payroll… "The government – any government – doesn't usually take an interest in such things unless there's a larger international issue involved. Is he connected to you? To your Burn Notice?"

"No. This is a private matter." Michael sighed. "I'm working for the family of one of the girls. She was taken two weeks ago and it took us that long to get a handle on Armando. We're set to take him down tonight." He nodded back to the mirror, his eyes indicating a thin good-looking brunette who had just walked into the room. "Fi, there, is going to start a scene and I'm going to go in and win Armando's confidence. By tomorrow morning all the girls will be safe at home and Armando will be dodging the thugs of all the people he had deals with. I just thought that things might get a little dicey if someone were to over react when I step in to settle things down." He met her eyes again. "Considering how we last met, I wanted to be sure you understood what was happening. I need you to let this play out. It has to happen tonight or we lose the girls."

Ziva looked at Armando and then back at Michael. She'd only heard rumors and supposition on why he'd been burned, but she'd been in the business long enough to know that not everything one heard was true. In the week she'd spent down here and she hadn't found anything at this conference that would warrant a visit from the notorious Michael Westen. Besides, his story was almost too improbable not to be true.

"Perhaps I believe you," she said. "What about the security for the delegation? Or hotel security?"

Michael shrugged. "You were the only one I had to worry about." He smiled at her as he got up and moved toward the center of the room.

He was right, Ziva decided. The security here wasn't up to their standards. She pushed her drink away and spun to watch him as he made his way across the lounge. The woman he'd indicated earlier suddenly slapped Armando and started yelling at him in Portuguese. She saw Michael step between them before a crowd of gawkers blocked her line of sight. She did a quick scan of the bar. All the dignitaries were safe and accounted for. She didn't see Michael or Armando after that.

At breakfast the next day, she picked up the local paper. The headline story told about the rescue of thirteen girls who had been victims of a sex slave ring. It said the police were still looking for the ringleader. There was no mention of Michael or of any connection to the conference. Ziva put down the paper just in time to see Michael walk in the door.

He walked over and sat in front of her. "I just wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"For believing me." He pulled out a ledger and slid it across the table to her. "I also wanted to give this to you. I thought you would be able to see that it's given to someone who could use it."

She flipped open the book. It was clearly an accounting of Armando's slavery business, the entries written in a tight Portuguese script. She nodded. "I know someone who would be interested in this."

"Good." He smiled at her, the first genuine smile she'd ever seen from him. "How 'bout I buy you breakfast as a thank you? Or can't you be seen with me?"

Ziva smiled back. "There are some warnings to that effect, but I never did pay that much attention to international gossip." She carefully put the book under the paper, making a mental note to overnight it to the NCIS office. Right now, though, it looked like the end of the conference was going to be much more interesting then the beginning.


End file.
